


His Hands Are Not His Own

by findingbarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Drug Abuse, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findingbarnes/pseuds/findingbarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern High School AU where Steve is the artist who keeps getting detention for standing up for what he thinks is the right cause. Bucky is the punk kid with long hair and a nose ring who keeps getting into detention just to spend time with Steve. This was meant to be a happy AU. Emphasis on was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be me writing happy, fluffy, painless HS drama. Sorry for all the possible (probable) future plot holes, I didn't intend it to be perfectly planned, just kind of fun and games, but we'll see about that. This one goes out to [redhotfool](http://www.redhotfool.tumblr.com) thank you for editing this beast and thank you for your McConaughey commentary.

Bucky had no idea why he was doing this. Again. It was the fourth time he was spending his afternoon in detention this week. No, actually he did know why he was doing it. But the little punk was so damn oblivious. He could wear a hoodie saying "I love Steven G. Rogers" and wave glow sticks in the guy's face and he still wouldn't notice shit. And of course Bucky was too shy to actually say anything. He wasn't gonna say shit to they guy. He wanted to, though. He wanted so bad. "Hey, Rogers how about a cup of coffee, you and I?”, or, "Steve, need help with some homework?”, or EVEN, "Hey, little punk, your place or mine?"

  Bucky sighed and propped his heavy head on his palms. Twenty minutes had passed. That meant forty more minutes of this bullshit detention. Bucky looked up at the back of Steve's head. The guy was so skinny and tiny. Why the hell did Bucky even like him? Steve wasn't his usual type.

  Bucky pressed his head back down. “Hey, Rogers, wanna grab a bite after this?" he murmured, half-audibly.

  "Huh?"

  Bucky looked up quickly. _Shit. What the fuck, Barnes?_

  Rogers had turned around and was looking around the room with a puzzled expression. He looked at Bucky for a moment. Something was burning in Bucky's stomach. It felt like his insides were on fire. "What," he managed to whisper.

  Steve turned around in his chair to face Bucky. "I just thought I heard someone say my name," he said and shrugged. "I guess my ear is just fucking with me again," he added, and smiled that crooked smile of his.

  _Oh for fuck's sake, Barnes. Come on._  

  Bucky shrugged and buried his head back in to the crook of his elbow. _Fucking fuck man. What's the matter with you?_

  "So... what did you do?" The little prick just couldn't leave it, could he? Bucky took a deep breath and looked up. He brushed some of the strands away from his face and tried to focus on anything but Steve's mouth. _Eyes. Eyes are good right?_  

  _Wrong_.

  Steve had the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. And the sun was shining and lighting them up.  _Oh fuck. Are you serious?_

  "I... um. I–" Bucky cleared his throat. "I cheated on an exam."

  A smile spread on Steve's lips. "Really?" His small body started to tremble from the suppressed laughter.

  Bucky frowned. "I don't think you're supposed to laugh during detention.”

  "Sorry," Steve finally said as he recovered from the spasms caused by his silent laughter. He turned around and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out an inhaler and took a deep breath through his mouth, then sighed and placed the inhaler on the desk.

  "So it's your first time, then?" he asked, turning back to face Bucky.

  _Of course he hadn't noticed. Why would've he?_

  “Actually, no."

  Steve squinted for a while. He scratched his nose and looked at the clock on the wall. Bucky followed his gaze: thirty-five minutes left.

  “So, what did you do, Rogers?"

  Steve looked back at Bucky and made a face. "I got into a fight. Again." He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a skinny arm covered with bruises from his wrist all the way up to the elbow, and probably even higher. It was Bucky's turn to make a face.

  "It looks a lot worse than it feels," Steve rushed to say when he saw Bucky's expression. "It's not that bad, really. I bruise like a peach." He forced a laugh as he rolled his sleeve down. "Rumlow caught me during lunch break and decided to teach me lesson. For what, I'm not sure. I think it's for the time I called him out on bullying Sharon. He's a cretin. And he's not good company. Sharon should know better."

  "Sharon..." 

  "Carter," Steve rushed to say. He looked up and saw Bucky was still staring at his now covered arm. "She lives next-door and we pretty much grew up together."

  "You sure you're okay?"

  "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it. It's not the first time this has happened." Steve waved him off and shrugged.

  "Not the first? How long has that shit been going on?" Bucky sat on the edge of his chair with his neck stretched out. He knew Rumlow was an ass. The whole school knew it. In fact, he was pretty sure the whole Tri-State area knew it.

  But Bucky didn't know that he was physically hurting people. The fact that the person Rumlow was hurting was Steve made it worse. Bucky and Rumlow had been friends up until a few years ago. Bucky wasn't really sure what had happened between them, but he knew that Rumlow's dad had left the picture and eventually Rumlow and his mom had moved, that's when his relationship with Bucky had grown cold. Well, the move wasn't the only thing that had made it cold. Rumlow still went to Lincoln High, though.

  "Yeah, no. I mean it's okay. I can handle it."

  The door opened and Steve quickly turned around in his chair to his original position. Bucky fixed his posture as Miss Hill entered the room. She glanced at the three kids sitting by their desks, looked at the clock on the wall, then at the watch on her wrist, and walked out without saying a word.

  After the door closed Steve immediately turned around. Bucky looked over the third kid. He'd been out of it since Bucky entered the room for detention. Bucky wasn't even sure who he was. He was wearing a purple shirt and had his head buried in his arms and a faint snore could be heard. Bucky turned his attention back to Steve.

  "Why the hell isn't Rumlow in detention, then?" Bucky inquired, his tone a little sharper than he'd intended.

  Steve flinched slightly but recovered quickly enough. He shrugged, again. "I don't know. Maybe because his dad is rich as balls?"

  "What? No he isn't. I've known Brock for years, his dad is not rich _'as balls'_. If anything he's poor _'as balls’_.”

  Steve shook his head defiantly. "I know what I'm about, man. His dad is Mr Pierce, who is, in fact, rich as balls."

  "Pierce isn't his dad."

  "No, yeah, he is. I've seen Rumlow coming to school in these fancy black SUVs and I swear, Pierce was there. Maybe he's not Rumlow's real dad, but he most definitely is his stepdad or mom's boyfriend or whatever. Hell if I know."

  Bucky looked down at the surface of his desk. No fucking way. Bucky knew two things about Alexander Pierce. One, the guy was indeed _rich as balls_ , and two, he was a major black market player. Whether it was drugs, guns, or human trafficking, Pierce most likely had a hand in it. What the hell had Rumlow gotten himself into?

  "Hey, hello?" Steve was waving a hand in front of Bucky. "Earth to James Barnes. Can you hear me?"

  Bucky blinked his eyes and focused his gaze on Steve. _The fuck he knows my name for?_ "Yeah, um. I got distracted. Sorry. What... What were you saying?" Bucky tried his best to hide his smile. _He knows my name? Okay, calm down there cowboy, everybody here knows everybody's name._ _No biggie._

  "Fuck if I know. I don't even know what this whole conversation is supposed to be about? Rumlow, detention, Pierce, school? I don't know, man."

  "Okay."

  "Yeah."

  Bucky looked over Steve's shoulder. He saw a sketch pad on the desk and some pens. "You draw," he asked as he pointed at the desk. Steve nodded. His face turned a slightly pink.

  "Yeah, yeah I do."

  Bucky leaned back on his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it up to tie it in a bun.

  "What do you draw?"

  Steve shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He looked at the floor and scratched his nose again. "Um... Just, you know. People."

  Bucky finished tying his hair up and let his palms fall flat on the desk in front of him. "Can I see?"

  Steve opened his mouth to say something then decided to close it. He made a face and finally looked up to see Bucky. "Yeah, sure. Why not." He reached behind him and grabbed the drawing pad, throwing it across the room to where Bucky was sitting. It landed with a loud thump right in the middle of Bucky's desk.

  The third kid who was in the room with them stirred from the noise but fell back asleep soon enough, his snoring louder this time.

  Bucky picked up the pad gently, extremely aware of Steve's gaze. He turned the first page around to see a drawing of the school yard. He looked at it for a moment and it took all the self-control he had not to let his jaw drop to the floor. The drawing was ridiculously detailed. The walls had every single tile drawn in, the trees had their leaves and even the people standing in the yard looked extremely real. The kid was absurdly skilled. Bucky turned the page to see a sketch of a girl. He immediately recognised it as Nat. He looked up at Steve slightly amused. "You draw my friends often?"

  Steve pressed his head down and almost stood up from his chair. "You know–"

  Bucky raised his hand up to silence him. "No, no. Just kidding. I'm sorry. I'll shut up."

  He continued to flip through the pages, spending an acceptable amount of time looking at each drawing and taking it all in. _Good god, man. He's really good._ He flipped the last page over and closed the pad. Steve was still looking at him, waiting for something. Approval or compliments, maybe.

  Bucky walked up to Steve's desk and placed the sketch pad on it gently. "You're stupid good, Rogers. Stupid good.” Steve finally exhaled and his frail shoulders dropped. He looked so relieved and happy, Bucky felt extreme joy for being the one making him feel like that.

  He gave Steve's shoulder a quick pat. "Good job, punk. I'm gonna need you to draw something for me some day."

  Steve's shaky laugh accompanied Bucky back to his desk. He looked at the clock: five minutes to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky waltzed down the corridor with his backpack over his shoulder. He pushed the classroom door open and waded in, ready to waste another hour of his life.

  He looked around for a moment. Of course Steve wasn’t there. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting anyway. The little punk had probably had enough. He _had_ after all, spent the entire last week in detention. And for some reason Bucky had been there with him.

  Bucky dropped his backpack to the floor and fell into his chair.

  At least Mister Coulson would be supervising the detention; he’d let them out early, _if_ he was in a charitable mood.

  Bucky hunched over and dropped his head to the desk. What a waste of time.

  “We have _got_ to stop meeting like this,” a clear voice announced from behind him.

  Bucky’s head jerked up. He turned around to face Steve’s beaming smile.

  “Seconded,” Bucky stated blandly while his insides were busy burning up.

  “Jerk,” Steve called while striding past Bucky.

  “Yeah.”

  Steve’s head snapped back. He looked at Bucky, confused. “You’re supposed to say punk. That’s how it works. It’s our thing,” Steve responded while sitting down. He pulled out his drawing equipment and placed them on the desk.

  “Sorry,” Bucky whispered. He observed Steve’s every move. Intently.

  “You gonna draw?” He gestured at the pens.

  Steve started grinning. “Yeah.”

  Bucky nodded. “Okay then.”

  “Actually,” Steve whispered, “I was planning on starting a new project today.” A devious smile spread on his face.

  “Really?” Bucky’s eyebrows arched as he dragged his desk closer to Steve’s. “What kind of project?”

  The smug smile adorning Steve’s face grew wider. “You’ll see,” he whispered, and crouched over his drawing pad.

  Bucky leaned back on his chair and placed his hands behind his head.

  Steve was so damn pretty.

  His small shoulders rounded around the drawing pad, like a mother lion protecting her cubs. His hands were gorgeous, and Bucky had a hard time looking away from them. His fingers were long and thin, smudged with ink; definitely an artist’s hands. Bucky felt his expression soften. _Steve_ was gorgeous.

  Steve looked up for a moment and saw Bucky’s adoring gaze. He smiled. Bucky turned around quickly. He fixed his gaze on the clock and pretended to study it for a good while.

  After a moment, when he thought it’d be safe to look back, he turned and saw Steve hunching over his drawing. He was frowning and chewing his upper lip while moving his pen along the paper.

  _Fuck. He’s so beautiful._

  “For a cool guy, you sure do get flustered easily,” Steve whispered from under his breath, without looking up.

  “What?”

  Steve was still frowning but the corner of his mouth started twitching.

  _That little fuck._  

  Bucky tried to find something in the classroom to fix his eyes on and noticed how empty the classroom really was.

  Tuesdays were usually the busiest detention days, yet there were only two kids there besides them.

  Mister Coulson strolled in holding a lunchbox and a thermos in one hand, and a book in the other. He sat down behind the teacher’s desk and started reading what looked like a Jane Austen book. He flipped a few pages, studied the students’ faces for a moment, then turned his attention back towards the book.  

  Bucky leaned in closer to take a look at Steve’s drawing.

  “Don’t do that,” Steve stated without moving.

  Bucky retreated back into his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He let out an elongated sigh.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Steve murmured.

  “Gotta tell you, Rogers, last time was a lot more fun,” Bucky declared while pouting and looking out the window.

  Steve started laughing and finally looked up from whatever it was that he was drawing. Bucky refused to move his gaze from the little patch of grass that was growing right outside the window. He could feel Steve's gaze on him and the scrutiny he was under. Steve studied him for a while, then turned back to his drawing.

_Son of a bitch._

  “Are you drawing me, little punk?” Bucky inquired and dragged his desk even closer to Steve’s.

  This time Steve’s laugh was a lot louder. It got Mister Coulson to place down his book and shoot a sharp look their way.  

  Bucky made an apologising face and shrugged.

  “Took you long enough to figure it out,” Steve whispered after Coulson had returned to his book.

  Bucky craned his neck to look at the notebook nested on Steve’s legs.The little punk _was_ drawing him.

_Damn he’s good._

  As he was peeking over Steve’s shoulder, he saw an almost photographic copy of himself. In a way it looked like Bucky, in a way it didn’t.  

  “It’s just a sketch,” Steve hurried to say after Bucky had been quiet for quite a while. “It needs adjusting. It’s not finished… I need to fix the eyes and the– the hair needs some adjusting. Hair is actually such a pain to draw. It’s… it’s just a sk–”

  Bucky looked up and Steve stopped talking when their eyes locked.

  “I like it.”  

  Steve let out a laboured breath.

  Bucky smiled. He was going for reassuring, but judging from Steve’s reaction, it was all but that.

  Steve nodded quickly and returned to his drawing.

  Bucky had lied when he’d said last time was more fun. It wasn’t. Watching Steve draw was the most entertaining thing he’d done in a while.

  Steve frowned when he drew. Probably trying to figure out a line or a shadow or whatever. Bucky had no clue. _He_ wasn't the artist.

  When Steve was really focusing, he started chewing his upper lip. It was so precious, Bucky had to physically cover his mouth not to let out a lovestruck sigh.

  At the other end of the classroom, Mister Coulson dropped his lunchbox. It fell to the ground with a loud thud that made Steve flinch and drop his pen.

  "Easy there tiger," Coulson whispered to his red, white and blue circular lunchbox.

  Steve looked around alarmed, like he had been woken up from a hundred year slumber.

  Bucky knelt down to pick up Steve’s pen. He was pretty convinced he looked up at Steve more adoringly than he’d meant to.

  “Thanks,” Steve muttered in return. He snatched the pen from Bucky’s hand and hunched over his drawing. Bucky could’ve sworn he saw a flush of red on Steve’s cheeks before his golden hair slid down and covered his face.

  “For a smart mouth you sure blush a lot,” Bucky whispered, half to himself. He wasn’t even sure Steve heard it until he heard him mumble something under his breath.

  Bucky wasn’t sure what it was but he could’ve sworn it sounded a lot like a “Fuck you, Barnes.”  

  Bucky grinned and scanned the classroom. There were still surprisingly few students in there, seeing how it was the busiest detention day of the week.

  “The other kids are with Hill,” Mister Coulson called from behind his book.

  Bucky flinched. “Huh?”

  Coulson put his book down and looked at Bucky. “Tuesday. Busy detention day. We have the petty criminals here with me. The stone cold killers, on the other hand, are in room 304 toughing it out with Hill.”

  Bucky must’ve looked at the history teacher like he was an alien descending from a space ship, that’s how amused Coulson looked. He nodded with a small smile. “That’s what’s up,” he said and returned to his book.

  “Okay,” Bucky muttered and returned his attention to Steve, who seemed quite upset by the fact that he’d been branded a petty criminal.

  He had fixed his posture and puffed up his chest, and he looked like he was ready to fight.

  “Petty criminals?” he exclaimed, placing his drawing pad on the desk.

  Coulson didn’t even flinch. He sat there, with his book nested on his legs, reaching for a croissant.  

  _Oh, man. I’d sell my grandma for a croissant._  

  Bucky touched his rumbling stomach.

  “Excuse me,” Steve tried again, this time louder.

  Coulson licked the tip of his finger and flipped the page, as unfazed as ever.

  Steve sank back into his seat. “I am not a petty criminal,” he stated.

  “Just be happy that you and your boyfriend are in the same room, will you? It wasn’t easy to arrange,” Coulson murmured and bit into his croissant. 

  It was Bucky's time to blush.

  Steve visibly shrunk as he fell deeper into his chair. He picked up his drawing pad and covered his face with it, suddenly becoming extremely interested in his artwork.

  “He’s not wrong, you know,” Bucky whispered under his breath. It took him all the courage he had not to bury his head into his hands but to stare ahead and wait for Steve to turn his head and watch him in the eye.

  And fuck, it was so worth it.

  The look on Steve’s face was something between pure shock and caged mischief.

  Bucky forced a half smile and held Steve’s gaze until the little punk turned away with a subtle smile.

  “I know he’s not wrong,” Steve stated and hunched over his drawing.

  “As long as we agree on that.”

  “Oh, we agree.”  

  Bucky’s stomach was turning inside out and it took all the remaining willpower he had not to collapse on the floor and start flailing like the hopeless romantic that he was.

  The detention took forever to end. Steve didn’t turn back once during the whole remaining time they were locked up. He was too focused on his drawing to actually turn and face Bucky and possibly give him a heart attack.

  Finally, after what felt like forever, the bell rang and Mister Coulson closed his book.

  “Free to go,” he stated as he stood up and cleaned up his desk.

  Bucky immediately grabbed his backpack and rushed to the door. He more or less ran through the hallways and pushed the door open. He took a deep breath of fresh air for what seemed to be the first time in years.

  “I’ll walk with you, yeah?”

  Bucky turned around to see Steve right behind him.

  Somehow the little asthmatic punk had caught up with Bucky. Sure, he was gasping for air but he was making a valiant effort to hide it and Bucky pretended he didn’t even notice when Steve turned around and took a puff from his inhaler.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Let’s get going then,” Steve called while slipping his inhaler back into his pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm just saying, I don't understand why you can't ask him out." Natasha rolled a strand of red hair around her finger. "I mean it's pretty obvious he likes you back, to some extent at least. Isn't that right, Clint?”

  Clint rushed around the tables with an empty tray held tight under his arm. "Yeah, and I was asleep during the whole thing." He sat down next to Natasha and placed the tray on the table. "But you know, whatever floats your boat."

  Natasha rolled her eyes and reached to grab her tea.

  "Furthermore, who comes to a coffeeshop six times a week, and never orders anything but green tea?" Clint turned to face Natasha with a wide a grin on his face.

  Natasha closed her eyes and took a sip from her cup. "Who goes to Starbucks every morning to get a Frappuccino when their family owns a coffee shop?" she stated calmly and placed the cup back on the table.

  Clint started to pout. "I like the whipped cream," he murmured, and sunk back into the seat.

  Bucky felt the corners of his mouth twitching.

  Natasha gave him a stern look. "Let's not get distracted, here."

  Bucky moved his finger along the brim of his coffee cup. "I don't think–"

  "Just ask him out. For a cup of coffee, even." Nat gestured around her. "Here. Coffee's on Clint."

  Clint groaned and folded his arms over his chest. "I gotta stop giving away free coffee, my dad's gonna kill me.”

  Natasha waved his complaints off. "Just bring him here."

  There was a fire in her eyes and Bucky knew she wouldn't back out on this one. He sighed and shrugged. "Sure, whatever."

  "No. Not whatever," she said calmly. "You're gonna ask him out and you're gonna have a damn good time, James.”

  Bucky made a face. "I hate that name."

  "Too bad," Natasha chimed and took another sip from her tea.

  Bucky stuck his tongue out at her. She was good.

  There was something about Natasha… she had this power to make people do things for her. Usually she didn't use it; she couldn't be bothered enough. But when she did, it was glorious and kind of creepy. Bucky guessed it had something to do with growing up in a strict household.

  "And _when_ have you been giving away coffee for free?" Natasha inquired as she turned to face Clint. "From the day that I first set foot in this place, I have been paying for my orders. So, the question remains, who do you keep giving coffee for free?"

  Clint scratched the back of his head. "You know–"

  "Whatever, sunshine."

  Bucky sensed it was time for him to go get a refill. Or a croissant, or both. It was dangerous being in the blast zone once Natasha and Clint started bickering. Clint fought like a passive owl. He just kind of inflated and puffed up his chest and threw sarcastic remarks at Natasha. Natasha, on the other hand, fought like a serpent. She was sharp and venomous, her strikes fast and unpredictable.

  They didn't fight often, though. Actually Bucky was pretty sure they weren't going to fight that much now either. He just wanted to escape the roasting he was inevitably going to receive.

  He leaned on the counter and held his cup high. "Barney? Refill, please?"

  The barista nodded and hurried to his duties.

  The Nest was an adorable, little coffee shop the Bartons had established back in 2002. Ever since then, Clint and his brother had been helping their parents with the work there. Recently the coffee shop had been getting more and more attention, but then again it was Brooklyn; everything was getting more attention.

  "One cappuccino," the barista called and slid a full cup to Bucky.

  "Thanks, man. Put it on my tab?"

  "Sure thing."

  As Bucky was walking back to his table, where Nat and Clint now sat unnecessarily close to each other, he noticed a head of golden hair sitting on the other side of the cafe. He was sitting at the table in the alcove and the sun was gleaming through the window, making his hair appear like it was liquid gold.

_Son of a bitch._

  It took Bucky all his strength to keep his fingers curled around the handle of his cup and not let his cappuccino spill all over the floor.

  Steve looked up from his sketchpad and out the window. He was too busy drawing something from outside to notice that Bucky had actually frozen in the middle of the cafe and was mindlessly gaping at him.

_Fuck it. Now's as good a time as ever._

  He let out a heavy breath of air and checked his hair in the reflection on the window and walked to the corner of the coffee shop. He could feel Natasha's gaze on his back as he approached the alcove.

  Bucky walked up the two steps and stopped right in front of Steve. The punk still hadn't noticed him.

  "This seat taken?"

  Steve was frowning at his drawing pad. He waved his hand absent-mindedly. "Nah, go ahead."

  Bucky pulled the chair out and placed his drink on the table. "You come here often?" _Really? Really, Barnes? That's probably the dumbest thing you've said this millennium._  

  But it got Steve to look up. He lifted his head slowly and his frown dissolved, a small smile taking its place. He put the drawing pad down and cocked his head.

  "James? What are you doing here?"

  "Well this is basically my second home, so the real question is, what are _you_ doing here?"

  Steve's warm laugh echoed in the full coffee shop, covering all the noise from the rush hour.

  He shrugged. "I don't know. I was walking by and I realised I'd never been to this coffee shop before, which is weird, because I always walk past it on my way to school. But then again there are like sixty billion coffee shops in Brooklyn, so yeah, that's my excuse. I'm going with that."

  Bucky nodded slowly. "O-kay."

  "Yeah." He scratched his nose. "I meant to ask you last time-" he started but then stopped as the faint blush spread to his cheeks.

  “Yeah?" Bucky asked carefully.

  "Nothing," Steve waved his hand.

  “No, go ahead."

  Finally Steve looked up from his shoes and held Bucky's gaze. "Did it hurt?"

  "Huh?”

  "Your– The... The nose ring... did it hurt?"

  Bucky shoulders relaxed. He let out a sound that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "No. No, it did not."

  Steve's eyes were round when Bucky looked at him. "Oh. Okay then." Steve reached towards his drink.

  "What are you drinking," Bucky asked, determined not to let them sit there in silence.

  “Um... chamomile tea,” Steve smiled shyly. “It’s pretty much the only thing I’m not allergic to. It also tastes pretty good, so that’s nice.” He looked up. “How about you? Probably something a lot more manly and tough.”

  Bucky snorted. “Ain’t nothing wrong with chamomile tea, Steve.”

  “That kinda sounded like a pity party.”

  “Well, it’s not.”

  “Whatever you say, James.”

  Bucky tried not to cringe at the name. He failed. Miserably so.

  “What’s wrong with James, James?” Steve had fixed his posture and was raising the cup to his lips.

  Bucky scratched his neck. “Ah… Nothing really. It just– It sounds so serious. It sounds like I’m in parliament or something.”

  “Yeah, that wouldn’t go so well with your street cred, right?” Steve looked at him with the widest grin Bucky had ever seen.

  “Yeah, it most certainly would not. Punk.”

  “Jerk.”

  Bucky looked at Steve’s drawing pad. He tried to make out the image upside down.

  “What are you drawing?”

  Steve glanced out the window, looking for something. “I _was_ drawing this beautiful elderly lady. She was sitting right there,” Steve pointed at the bench across the road. “But, since I got distracted,” Steve moved his finger to point at Bucky, “I can now no longer finish my artwork.”

  Bucky lifted his eyebrows and grinned. “Sorry.”

  Steve answered the smile with a sour look. “You don’t sound very sorry.” Bucky let out an amused sound and started to draw circles on the brim of his cup.

  He could see Steve frown from the corner of his eye.

  “What is it now, Rogers?” he asked softly.

  “Why are your friends looking at us?”

  “Why are– What?” Bucky turned quickly around and saw Natasha and Clint sitting in the booth across the room with their heads turned around. They weren't even trying to be subtle. As soon as Natasha caught Bucky’s gaze she gave him a devious smile and wiggled her eyebrow. Clint was just blatantly staring at them like he would a TV screen while surfing through the channels. Bucky clenched his jaw a gestured them to turn around.

  Steve had his neck reached out to see what was happening.

  “What was that about?” he asked once Bucky turned around.

  “Nothing. Ignore them.”

  “Pretty hard to ignore someone who keeps staring at you like you’re their last meal,” Steve stated, his gaze still fixed on Clint.

  “No, that’s how he looks at everything. It’s his resting face. It’s terrifying.” Bucky waved his hand in the air calmly.

  “If you say so.”

  Clint did have a terrible resting face. He looked like he was either going to skin someone alive or like he was planning five ways to kill you and your family and steal your dog. And your pizza. Mostly, though, he was just thinking about coffee. Or candy. Or both. Sometimes Natasha.

  His resting face was what had first made Bucky keep his distance. But Natasha was his closest friend, and Clint and her were a package deal.

  “I really should be going,” Steve said quietly. He started to throw his pens and drawing things-–half of which Bucky failed at identifying–-into his leather backpack. “It’s getting late and I need to go help mom with chores.” He looked up at Bucky with a blank expression.

  “Want to go for a cup of coffee some day?” Bucky blurted out. “Or chamomile tea? Or you know…whatev–-” Bucky’s words grew faint. He looked at the floor and was hoping he could sink right through it.

  “That’d be nice, Bucky.” Steve threw the backpack over his shoulder and stood up. The little punk was only a few inches taller standing than Bucky was sitting down.

  Steve leaned down and gave Bucky of piece of paper with his number scribbled on it. “Here. Text me.”

  Bucky couldn’t help but smile. “You have pieces of paper with your number in your pocket, ready to give them to strangers?”

  “Nope. Just cute guys I see in coffee shops,” Steve chimed and walked towards the door to make a dramatic exit.

_Punk._

  “See, I told you he’d go out with you.” She had snuck up and was now standing above him, glancing at the piece of paper in his hands.

  “Jesus, Nat. I told you to stop doing that.” Bucky called out, a little too startled. She smiled and sat down opposite of him.

  “You’re gonna call him, right?”

  Bucky looked up from the piece of paper. “Not right now!” he screeched.

  Natasha pursed her lips to hide a smile. “No, not right now. But soon. He seems nice.”

  Clint rushed past them holding a tray with more coffee mugs than probably safe. Natasha gave him a warm smile and then focused her attention on Bucky.

  “James,” she ignored Bucky’s scowl. “Promise me you’ll call him,” she said softly, placing her hand on his wrist.

  Bucky nodded.

  “He’s good for you,” she added and looked down. “It’s been some time since–”

  “I know that, Natasha,” he snapped, and moved his arm away from hers.

  “I’m just saying, you’ve had some time to recover now and I think Steve’s–”

  “I really don’t feel like talking about _this_ right now,” Bucky stated calmly, avoiding her piercing gaze.

  “Alright, James.” She gave his arm a quick pat and walked to the counter to join Clint, who was hassling with the orders.

  Bucky started chewing on his bottom lip. Natasha had no right to do that. Not when he’d been doing so well for so long. Bucky felt the crease in his forehead deepen. He rolled the piece of paper between his fingers for a while, then placed it in his pocket.

  He was on the receiving end on one of Clint’s apologising looks when he left the cafe.

 

***

 

Bucky was sitting on a pile of clothes when his phone buzzed for the first time. He looked at the bed where he had left his phone. He decided it was probably Natasha trying to contact him and make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid. So he ignored it. Seeing how he was definitely doing something stupid.

  He looked towards the corner of the room longingly.

  After a few minutes the phone buzzed again. Bucky ignored it a few more times but after the fifth time he sighed loudly and crawled over the clothes paving the way to his bed. He felt a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he saw the name lighting up the screen.

  “What do you want, owl guy?”

  The voice on the other end let out a coarse laugh.

  “You still mad at Nat?”

  Bucky frowned. Of course he wasn’t. “Nah. I’m good.”

  “Then please for the love of god answer your phone. She’s been bugging me since you left the cafe. And god knows I have other things to worry about. Like, you know…customers and shit.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it. You lead a busy life.”

  “That was uncalled for.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Whatever, man. Call Natasha.”

  “Got it.”

  There was a moment of silence between them, then Clint sighed. “You’re not… You know. Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Ok, that’s good.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Call Nat. Bye.”

  Bucky threw the phone back on the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed a haircut. And new friends, probably. He rubbed his eyes and stood up. It was time to clean the bomb site his bedroom had become.

  He saw the red shirt in the corner of the room. He could almost make out the bold letters. They were mocking him, laughing at him and his failure. He crawled to the shirt and threw it in the trash. 

  He had no use for an old shirt from an old ballet show. It was a memento of another life. An old life he could no longer return to, and the shirt only served as a painful reminder of all that he had lost. He looked at the vivid fabric for a while.

_Not me._

Bucky walked back to the other end of his room and grabbed his phone. He dialled the number and waited for the phone to ring twice.

  "Hey it's me," he stated calmly when the person on the other end answered. "I need to see you."

  "Okay," the voice hesitated. "I'll be around Homecrest tomorrow," he whispered with a raspy voice. "See you then."

  Bucky hung up the phone and held it against his chin.

  He paced around the room nervously for a good while before choosing his next move.

   _Fuck it._

His fingertips were tingling as he started cleaning his room. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.


End file.
